The fire crackled low as night blanketed Myrrhwood. Sleep came in fragments—restless and dream-heavy. For Kaelen, it never came at all.
He sat cross-legged near the shattered altar, eyes fixed on the sealed vault door below. The ancient runes still shimmered faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat. The air above it was colder, touched by a magic deeper than time.
"You should sleep," Elara said, stepping quietly beside him, her cloak draped over her shoulders.
Kaelen shook his head. "The Guardian said something before it vanished."
She tilted her head. "What did it say?"
He hesitated. "Not in words. But I saw... Loren."
Elara's expression softened. "He still haunts you."
Kaelen didn't reply right away. "I've been chasing answers. But now I wonder if I'm just chasing ghosts."
Elara knelt beside him, her hand resting gently on his. "Then let's chase them together."
At dawn, the vault opened.
It wasn't a dramatic event. No earthquake. No beam of light. The runes simply flickered—and faded. The stone platform hissed as it slid aside, revealing a spiral staircase descending into black.
Milo coughed. "I hate it when magical doors just open like they were waiting for us."
"Maybe they were," Celine muttered.
Arin conjured a floating orb of light and led the way. The others followed in silence. Kaelen stepped last, gripping Dawnpiercer, its glow dim but steady.
They descended deep—far deeper than any natural cavern should allow. The walls changed from rough stone to smooth obsidian etched with unfamiliar glyphs. Elara paused occasionally, brushing her fingers along the marks.
"These aren't Vaelorian," she murmured. "They predate the empire. Maybe even the Ancients."
"Predate the Ancients?" Arin repeated. "That's impossible."
"Then we're standing in impossible," she replied.
At the base of the stairs, the tunnel opened into a vast chamber.
It was circular, domed, with a floor of silver-white marble veined with crystal. Pillars lined the walls, each holding fragments of floating stone—broken pieces of something once whole.
In the center stood a pedestal. Upon it: a shard the size of a fist, hovering in the air, casting shimmering waves of light across the room.
Kaelen stepped forward. "That's it."
The Shattered Star.
He could feel its pull—familiar and wrong all at once. It resonated like the Heart fragment he'd once held in his hands. But this one was... colder. Older.
Thorne approached warily. "That thing has a heartbeat."
"No," Arin whispered. "It's mimicking one."
Suddenly, the chamber darkened. Shadows swirled from the corners. The light of the Star flickered.
And then a voice echoed—low, guttural, and angry.
"You come to awaken what should never rise."
A figure materialized from the shadows.
Tall, wrapped in dark armor that shimmered like oil, with horns curling from its helm and a spear of crimson steel in its grip. Its presence sent shivers through the room.
Celine drew her bow. "Who the hell—?"
"El'Rhaz," Elara whispered, eyes wide. "The Warden of the Black Seal. He was supposed to be a myth."
"Then myth has very good aim," Milo said as the spear slammed into the ground, sending a shockwave across the floor.
The battle was immediate and brutal.
Thorne charged first, bringing his blade down in a colossal arc. El'Rhaz blocked it with one hand, the other lashing out with a pulse of shadow that knocked Thorne back across the chamber.
Celine's arrows struck true—but dissolved before touching his armor.
"His shield's magical!" she called out.
"I'll dispel it!" Arin shouted, conjuring a lattice of light. The moment it touched El'Rhaz, the figure turned—and spoke in a dead language that shattered the spell.
Kaelen moved. Fast. He leapt forward, blade spinning with flame. El'Rhaz met him in midair, spear against sword, sparks flying. The shock knocked Kaelen back but not down.
"His power isn't just magic," Kaelen said. "It's old magic. Rooted in the rift."
Elara summoned a phoenix—white-feathered and blazing. It shrieked and dove. El'Rhaz raised his hand and crushed it with a thought. Elara fell to one knee, coughing blood.
"Get her out!" Kaelen yelled.
"No!" she gasped. "I can—"
"Not now," he snapped, stepping in front of her.
El'Rhaz's spear surged with dark flame. He advanced.
Kaelen's eyes burned. His heart pounded. The Star behind them pulsed—slower, deeper, in tune with the enemy.
Then he understood.
"El'Rhaz isn't guarding the shard," Kaelen said. "He's bound to it."
"Then we separate him from it," Thorne growled, limping back into the fight.
"Celine—target the shard. Arin, give her a path."
"You got it," Arin said, firing beams of force to part the shadows.
Celine raised her bow. "Don't miss," she whispered—and fired.
The arrow struck the Star.
There was no explosion. No thunder.
Just a ripple. A pause.
And then El'Rhaz screamed.
His armor cracked. Shadows peeled away. The spear hissed into nothing. He stumbled, reaching for the Star—but Kaelen was already there.
He drove Dawnpiercer through El'Rhaz's chest.
The warden's body shattered into smoke and starlight.
The chamber fell still.
Later, they stood around the shard, now dim and still. Arin placed it inside a containment case of layered sigils.
"That's one of them," he said. "There are more."
"Of course there are," Milo groaned. "Because nothing is ever easy."
Kaelen touched the case.
It felt warm.
Alive.
"We're not just gathering fragments," he said quietly. "We're waking something up."
Elara met his gaze. "Then we need to be ready."